


i feel it when my heart beats

by interstellarbeams



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Fever Dreams, Missing Scene, Post 2x04, Post Jessica’s return, Pre 2x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:11:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellarbeams/pseuds/interstellarbeams
Summary: Lucy wakes to find Wyatt at her side while she is bed-ridden with fever. (Post 2x04)





	i feel it when my heart beats

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Gretchen and my beta Emily for all their help! 
> 
> Dedicated to Anna who wanted a fever dream scene - I don’t know if it really constitutes as a fever dream sequence but I tried. :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Feed the starving writer with feedback and she’ll be interested in creating more content. It’s a fact! <3

_I feel it coursing through my veins like fire_  
_And I_  
_Feel you coursing through my veins like fire_  
_I feel it when my heart beats_

_heart beats_ \- johnnyswim

—————

Lucy tosses her head on the pillow, strands of loosened hair sticking to the sweat on her neck. She moans as the wound on her arm throbs with every beat of her heart. The warmth of the blankets covering her is suddenly too much to bear and she pushes at them ineffectually.

“ _Shh_ , _shh_ , Lucy. It’s okay,” Wyatt’s slightly raspy voice reaches her through her muddled thoughts. 

“Wyatt.” She tries to speak through a throat that feels as dry as sandpaper.

“I’m here. You’re going to be fine,” he reassures her. 

The press of his palm to the top of her hand moves her from her listless state. She tries to sit up but her head feels thirty pounds heavier than normal like it has been replaced with a bowling ball while she slept. 

“Lucy, hey, relax.” His voice raises with concern. “Lay back down.” 

He slides his arm behind her shoulders in support and the familiar scent of his laundry detergent reminds her of a night spent in his arms. He slowly eases her down until her head is resting on the pillow again, and although her head still feels like it weighs more than it should, it’s a relief that helps stop the room spinning.

The musical sound of cascading water droplets is followed by the coolness of a damp rag against her forehead and neck. She moans again and the wanton sound would have sent a blush flooding through her if not for her already fever-heated cheeks.

She opens her eyes little by little, the faint light from the bedside lamp pierces her irises and causes an increasing pain in her head but she ignores it. Wyatt’s forehead is creased in concentration and she’s not sure whether he realizes that she’s still awake. 

He’s still wearing the t-shirt from the day before, (or at least she thinks it’s only been a day - her fever had come on quickly and viciously) and the fact that he hasn’t changed his clothes sends a jolt of pain to her heart. 

“How long has it been?” She turns her head on the pillow, glancing around the room, but there aren’t any windows or even a clock on the wall to help her guess the time. 

Wyatt doesn’t look shocked that she has spoken but he pauses for a moment before answering as he drops the cloth back into the basin. 

“Um,” Wyatt brushes a hand through his hair before settling against the chair back, “it’s been about a day, maybe twenty seven hours or so.” 

“How’s Jessica?” Lucy asks, ignoring the heart-rending flash of pain that crosses Wyatt’s face before he brings his features under control. 

She doesn’t blame him, the same pain flares up inside her, almost eclipsing the pain in her infected wound.

“She’s good.” Wyatt pauses, as if the effort to speak is too much for him to handle, or possibly to save her feelings, but it’s already too late for that.

The pain in her arm causes her to grit her teeth but she pushes through it, reaching out to place a hand on Wyatt’s knee. He jumps as if he has been shocked but he doesn’t pull away. 

Lucy ignores the twinge of her conscience and the lethargy that pulls at her bones and muscles, the weight even heavier in her eyelids as she struggles to comfort him through the pain. 

“ _Lucy_.” He finally speaks and she catches a hint of longing in his voice mixed with exhaustion — caused by the late hour and the recent shock of Jessica’s return — that has drained his physical and emotional reserves.

She slowly draws her hand back from its place on his leg, back to the safety of the bed. The military issue blanket covering her is scratchy underneath her fingers and she misses the warmth of him already, but she isn’t allowed to touch him anymore now that his wife is back in the picture.

If she had the energy she would cry but she doesn’t so she offers him a wan smile instead as she struggles to hold her eyes open. She wants her last view of him to be unobscured but her fever-ravaged body has other ideas and she falls asleep.

—————

When she wakes up again, the retro lamp has been turned off and she struggles to prop up on her elbow to reach the water glass that should be sitting on the bedside table.

She hears the rustle of clothing close by and jerks back her hand, a childhood fear and her fever combining to make her heart skip a beat. 

The bedside lamp cuts on and she sinks back with relief to catch sight of Wyatt’s familiar face.

“You’re still here?” She says with a sigh, accepting the glass of water her offers her with a shaking hand.

“I’m still here.” Wyatt exhales as he leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

“You should get some sleep,” Lucy suggests after a moment, staring down into the bottom of the glass so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“I know,” Wyatt huffs, a rueful smile lifting a corner of his mouth. “You always did like to tell me what to do.” 

Lucy scoffs but doesn’t answer. She lays down again, pulling the blanket up underneath her chin with one hand, trying to still the trembling in her limbs.

The air is still, the clanking of ancient pipes the only sound in what she assumes is late night in the bunker.

“You should go to her.” 

The silence grows heavy with words unsaid, but nothing either of them could say would turn back the clock or make his wife disappear. This is the hand they have been dealt and they have to come to terms with it.

Wyatt reaches forward for her hand and she lets him take it, her willpower battling between her heart and her head. The callused warmth of his palm wraps around her fingers and he lifts her palm to his lips.

His breath ghosts over her hand and her fingers flex as a shiver goes through her body. She gasps from the searing spark that shoots through her blood rivaling the fever’s burn.

“ _I’m sorry_.” He whispers so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. She can the feel the dampness of his tears as his cheek glances off her fingers before the warmth of his hand is gone. 

The scuff of his shoes and the metal screech of the door closing are the only indication of his departure.

She is alone.

As she slips into a hazy doze, a single tear drips down into her hair.


End file.
